


Blooming Rose

by DarkBlue



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, HP Next Gen, birth of rose, post hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 09:08:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20812598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkBlue/pseuds/DarkBlue
Summary: Ron loses his mind when Hermione goes into labor, and the entire Weasley family is there to support the birth of their daughter.





	Blooming Rose

**Author's Note:**

> A birthday present to Nyx (tumblr as ginniewheezie), who asked for a one shot about the birth of Rose.

“I’ll get the car! I’ll get the car!” Ron was panicking. Predictably. This was on par with what Hermione had expected, but she couldn’t help but feel a bit let down that he wasn’t letting _her_ freak out about expelling an actual human from her internal organs. One of them had to be the sensible one, and 9/10 times (being generous, obviously, to Ronald) it was her. 

“I’ve got the overnight bag,” she called after him. It had her clothes. She had carefully chosen her picture outfit for her post-birth pictures. She was freshly scrubbed from a recent shower, her hair was in a power bun (already frizzing out, but that couldn’t be helped), and she had her mobile in her hand. 

They had a muggle car mostly for Hermione’s interactions with her parents, where they drove to their house quietly, normally, mostly Hermione driving because Ron couldn’t pass a muggle licensing test on account of not having any important papers like birth certificates or national records. But he came skidding around the corner in the silver volkswagen sedan in such a way that forcibly reminded Hermione that Ron hadn’t had much practice at driving cars since he had crashed into the Whomping Willow when he was twelve. It seemed a very big risk to have happen the first of February, though Hermione wondered if a good thumping across the back might just pop the baby right out and she might nix her way past the defecating, screaming, and crying bits. 

Ron was very uneasy that Hermione had decided to have her birth in a muggle hospital, and now that Hermione was realizing there was no way to get there safely that didn’t involve an automobile which _Ron_ would have to drive, that she hadn’t thought it through. The problem was, of course, that she wanted her Mum there. She had already called her. It was only eight in the morning, so she hadn’t woken her. Dad was at work elbow deep in someone else’s gum disease, but Mum had retired a year before from their joint office of “Drs. Granger, D.D.S.” She mostly did the books now, the stuff Dad always hated. She had promised to come straight away with Dad. 

Hermione hadn’t thought either of them could _find _St. Mungo’s, much less any of the smaller birthing clinics the hodge-duelas worked from. So she had firmly enrolled with a gynecologist, gone to every appointment on time while Ron goggled at a sonogram, learned she was carrying a daughter, and of course behind Ron’s back double checked everything with a medi-witch just in case. 

And now _she_ was coming. _She_. They had dabbled with a few names, but narrowed it down to ones that started with ‘R’ or ‘H’ for Ron and her. They planned on two children, probably, so whichever one they used this time they’d use the other letter for the next one. 

“I HAVEN’T PUT PETROL IN THE CAR IN THREE MONTHS!” Ron bellowed, the windows still shut fast, hands scrabbling to roll them down so she could hear him, which she very much could. Hermione sighed, bent over the door handle, paused for a long, gasping moment, and then opened it and slung her bag in. Ron managed to half push down the driver’s automatic window as he sprinted around the car, batty and half dressed, his trousers unzipped and in full wizarding robes, and tried to help her into her seat. By the time he had her door in hand, she was already pulling the seatbelt across her stomach, breathing in three contracted rhythms she had been told in both her magical and muggle birthing classes. 

“Are you alright?” Ron asked anxiously. 

Hermione only _looked_ at him.

“Right. Right!” he ran a hand over the back of his head helplessly. “Can I get you anything? Some ice? Would ice help? Or tea?”

“You can get in the car,” said Hermione, trying to keep the usual bickering snap from her voice and failing.

“RIGHT!” shouted Ron. “RIGHT. The hospital! We’re going to the hospital!” He slung himself in the driver’s seat, tangled his seatbelt in his robes, stood back up, stripped his robes over his head, threw them in the dirt, got back in the car wearing nothing but unzipped cargo pants, and hit the acceleration so hard he nearly flattened Crookshanks, who streaked out of the way with an angry hiss as they bolted out of the neighborhood. 

“_Ron_,” Hermione chided, but without heart. 

At the stop sign at the end of their street, the car died completely.

“It’s okay,” said Hermione in weary resignation, when Ron made to get out of the car again. “I’ll do it.”

She took out her wand and willed the engine to turn over with a friction charm. It did so quietly, and Ron resumed his stop-go slam motion of getting them to the hospital. 

They got lost four times, and by the time they were pulling into the car lot, both of them were yelling at each other at the top of their lungs.

“I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU FORGOT TO PUT PETROL IN AFTER I’VE TOLD YOU THREE TIMES THIS WEEK!” Hermione shouted.

“ME? YOU’RE THE ONE WHO WON’T JUST APPARATE IN!”

“APPARATE IN? AND SCRAMBLE OUR BABY INTO JELLY? MERLIN, RON, GET A GRIP!”

“WE COULD HAVE FLOO’D IN!”

“RIGHT, SO I CAN JUST SQUIRT HER OUT ON THE LOBBY FLOOR RIGHT WHEN WE -”

“Guys,” it was Harry, and he was leaning into Ron’s window, which he had never closed all the way. 

“Harry,” said Hermione abruptly, recovering herself with a hand to her hair as if it might topple out of its bun, when it had already long-sprung for freedom in the half wind of the car.

“D’you want help?” he asked, wrinkling his nose so his glasses slid down; he never got the trick right. “Ginny’s gone to get a wheelchair.”

Hermione had never exited a car so fast and so furiously in her life. 

Ginny was waiting behind the passenger door to scare her, which caused Hermione to scream, and the rest of her hair to fall. Ginny and Harry doubled up laughing.

“I knew you’d never go in a wheelchair,” said Ron weakly. 

“I - AH-” said Hermione, and Ginny stopped laughing at once, gripping her hand tightly to hold her upright. Ginny had been the first of them to have a baby, just last year. She helped edge Hermione towards the curb of the hospital waiting doors. 

“Where’s Junior?” Hermione asked as she leaned up against the metal railing in relief of being out of the car in one piece, and one firm ground.

“At his Gran’s,” said Ginny promptly. James Jr. more or less lived with Molly Weasley during the week, while Ginny was at practice in the mornings and Harry at the Auror’s office. 

“She’ll come by later,” Ginny assured Hermione, still holding her arm and elbow.

By the car, Harry was looking Ron over. “What happened to you?”

“What d’you mean?” asked Ron, grinning a huge, terrified grin that could not seem to drop off his face. He wasn’t sure if it was because _she_ was finally coming or because perhaps Hermione was right and he ought to take a few more driving lessons from Percy before ever doing that again. 

“You’re not dressed.”

“Aren’t I?” asked Ron vaguely.

“The glove box!” Hermione called from the curb.

“The what?”

Ginny left Hermione doubled over the rail, hissing, as she jogged back to where the car was sprawled across three lines. “She says look for the napkin in the glove box.”

Harry bent over Ron’s driver’s seat and looked in the glove box. There was a tiny origami napkin sitting neatly on the top, which he handed to Ron to pull open like a fortune.

Ron tugged, and the emergency muggle outfit Hermione always kept for him spilled out of it and onto his body in seconds. The trousers he had been wearing were now laying in the parking lot at his feet. He stuffed them hastily into the car, felt his chest to make sure it was one of his Mum’s many sweaters, and then took his wand out of the crack between the driver’s seat and the console, where it always seemed to worm itself.

“The bag,” he told Harry, gesturing, and Harry snatched up the bag from where it had been spilled by Hermione’s feet and slung it over a shoulder, grinning.

With a pop of his wand, Ron shrunk the car to a toy-sized and clipped it to a keychain on the ring of his keys before slipping it into his pocket. Hermione had come up with that charm, because she was brilliant. They never had to worry about parking or fees. And the little car charm was just so _cute_ and _realistic._ Ron noticed the window was still half cranked. _Ah well, _so the car would smell like lint for a few days.

The three came back over to Hermione, who transferred her death grip to Ron’s hand instead of Ginny’s. They walked as a group into the entry and were directed up to labor and delivery straightaway on the fourth floor.

“Why’ve they got a whole floor just for babies?” Ron asked in astonishment. “Surely muggles aren’t having this many at one time?”

Home births were still popular in the wizarding world, though small clinics and private healing hospitals were on the rise. 

“Shut up, Ron,” said Ginny irritably, glancing up at Hermione’s face to check on her. 

Ginny was the one that helped her get dressed behind the curtain while Ron and Harry sat outside it.

“Can you go check where Hermione’s parents are?” asked Ron to Harry in a low voice. “I know she really wants her Mum here for it.”

“Yeah, ‘course,” said Harry, already jumping up, mobile out. “Have you got their numbers?”

“What? Oh, no, I’ve forgotten my phone.” Ron had not gotten better at using a telephone much in the intervening dozen or so years since he had called to shout at Harry Dad had gotten tickets to the World Cup, though he, Harry, and the rest of them had made a point to attend the matches of 1998, 2002, and were going again this year to Uruguay versus Rwanda, which was hosting and desperately trying to revitalize after the muggle atrocity the year of the Irish cup. He _was_ marginally better at texting using his mobile, but Harry knew he often used magic just to dictate what he wanted to say instead of bothering to spell it out by punching the numbers. 

“Hermione?” Harry called tentatively.

“Go away!” said Ginny furiously from behind the screen.

“No, it’s okay. Just a second,” called Hermione, and after a few moments Ginny reluctantly pulled back the screen to reveal Hermione in a pink cloth nightgown and tucked up under the covers. 

A muggle nurse came in to start her IV, which made Ron wince and look the other way, while Hermione directed Harry to look in her bag - no the other bag - no, in her sweats pocket, yes there it was - for her mobile and take her parents’ numbers out of it. 

“Call Mum first,” said Hermione lightly, but in a way that was obvious to her three closest friends that she was quite anxious about why her mother wasn’t there yet.

“Mum can get here as soon as need be,” Ginny promised Hermione. “I can pop home _any _time to get her.”

Hermione nodded, smiling. “Thanks,” she said smiling, but Ron could tell this is _not_ what she wanted. He didn’t blame her. If he was going through something like this - _something like this_ being as close as he could expect like surgery - he wouldn’t want _Hermione’s_ Mum. He’d want his Mum. And this was only about a quadrillion times more important than surgery, wasn’t it?

He went to her side, touching her shoulder awkwardly. When she didn’t snap at him, he knew they were on firm ground again, and he took it more firmly, kneading small circles as her hand without the iv clenched on the bed, watching Harry walk out into the hall so she couldn’t see his face when he reached her parents…or didn’t.

The nurse came back. “I’m Yvonne,” she said brightly. “I’ll be with you the whole of the day today. And Dr. Hanks will come in tonight.”

“_Tonight?” _Ron asked, scandalized. “She’s taking her time about it!” 

“Ron,” said Ginny in a weary voice. “This is how long babies take.”

“They _what_,” Ron said, as if his daughter was dallying about just to inconvenience him. “I thought it’d be about…an hour.”

Literally everyone in the room laughed, including Harry, who had just come back in.

“Your mum has been trying to get your dad in the car. She says as soon as he’s done with cleaning the last person in his office - they’ve cancelled all the other appointments, see but -”

“Yes, yes,” said Hermione testily. That did sound like her parents. Best to always do the job properly, and take care of the people around them. Something they had drilled into her. Yvonne gave her a cup of ice chips and left. She handed the ice chips to Ron, who had been eyeing them like a half reticulated snow cone.

“George has already been by as the designated member of the ‘Rest of the Family,’” added Harry. “Popped in about five minutes ago. He’s taken the whole day off work.”

“No,” moaned Hermione. “Don’t let him do that. The shop is swamped right now, and Ron-” 

Ron had been helping a lot more in the shop than usual. Sometimes Hermione felt he spent more of his time there with George than at the office with Harry. He was taking paternity leave from both though. Hermione wondered if Ron was thinking about switching over full time after the leave was up. They had never managed to start the conversation halfway decently without getting into shouting matches about Ron feeling _guilty_ and that he had _nothing_ to feel guilty about and that Harry shouldn’t have to clean up the mess alone and that Harry would burn out too and it _wasn’t_ burning out why didn’t she have faith in him-

Hermione only smiled at Ron pathetically. “Tell George-”

“Oh that’s not all,” interrupted Harry with a crooked smile. “He’s already pulled Percy, Bill, and Fleur out of work.”

“Oh that’s just-” Hermione objected, quite feisty until the next contraction took her. She grunted more than groaned, quite embarrassed. It was like having a cramp or explosive diarrhea but she was just _blocked up._

“It’ll get worse than that,” said Ginny cheerfully.

“Really?” said Ron sarcastically.

“Really,” agreed Harry glumly.

Ginny smacked him over the head with her wand, which accidentally caused a lightbulb to blow out. 

They all had to pretend to be perfectly innocent of it when Yvonne came back in to check on Hermione’s folding out contraction chart, which was already pooling on the floor.

“You’re doing just fine,” she said cheerfully. “I’ll come back in two hours for your enema.”

“Your _what_?” Ron asked, embarrassingly loudly, as Yvonne left. There was a burst of laughter from the nurse’s desk, and Hermione groaned. 

“Another contraction?” Ron asked hopefully, as if speeding her along might get them in time for a good show on the telly. 

“No,” growled Hermione. 

Another hour passed. Ginny, at least, had her head together, and she had brought Hermione a stack of books and magazines to flip through, including the newest issue of _The_ _Quibbler_. The front cover was actually of Luna, sitting perched in a tree, surrounded by thousands of tropical birds. It was only obviously Luna because from the photographer’s angle, her dirty blonde hair was lit in a halo around her, and she was wearing two different colored socks.

“Page 37,” grinned Ginny. “You’ll never guess what she’s doing?”

Hermione quickly flipped to page thirty seven as Ron and Harry craned their necks. “She’s trying to _interview_ them?” said Hermione, surprised.

Ron only laughed, and Harry squinted at the shifting text, grinning in spite of himself at what the birds had to ‘say’ about their own migratory habits and breeding preferences. 

“Who’s that?” asked Ron, stabbing a finger at another full page spread photo of Luna, and another young man with golden brown hair.

“That’s Rolf Scamander,” said Ginny promptly. “He’s been in the papers lately, advocating for greater national reserves for rare creature breeding.”

“Scamander?” said Harry, trying to remember the name. “From-”

“_Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_,” but it was Ron, unexpectedly, who said it. He glanced at Harry. “Don’t you remember the summer we spent marking up that book? Everything marked XXXXX was Hagrid’s best friend.”

“Literally,” Harry agreed. “What were we, twelve?”

“Yeah. I think. And the bloke who wrote it was-”

“Newt Scamander,” confirmed Ginny. “That’s his grandson. Rolf. He and Luna met at a protest. I think she was there by accident, really. She had been taking Ivy for a fly.”

Ivy was Luna’s thestral mare Hagrid had given her after its mother had died accidentally by a stray centaur arrow. He had been wanting to diversify the herd bloodlines, and had offered the thestral to Luna, who had always loved them. Luna had taken the filly with alacrity and bottle fed her in her tiny studio flat. They traveled everywhere together for the _Quibbler_ reporting. 

“AH,” cried Hermione, quite insistently as she gripped her stomach. Her back was spasming and she couldn’t lie down flat. “G-Ginny,” she chattered.

“Get Mum?” Ginny’s freckled face was suddenly serious. “Yeah. Yeah.” And she was gone with a pop.

“Um!” Ron called loudly at the door. “Could we get some…help or?”

Harry held Hermione’s hand tightly as she looked at him, her eyes filled with tears.

“It’s okay, Hermione,” Harry whispered. “You’ll get through it. We’ll get through it. We’ve been through a lot worse.”

“Where’s…my…Mum…” she whispered miserably. 

“I’ll call her,” said Harry firmly, abdicating his position to Ron who had brought overly cheerful Yvonne with him.

Without much glance at Ron, Yvonne ducked her head under the foot of Hermione’s blankets and nudged around with a gloved hand while Hermione shook, her teeth gritted.

“Four centimeters,” she said proudly. “You’re doing marvelous love, a little under halfway there.”

Hermione whimpered, not so much from the pain, but from the fear. _Where was Mum?_

Ron gripped her hand, his own freckled face anxious and white. “See? Halfway,” he said encouragingly. Hermione only turned her face away, a hot tear falling on the pillow. She felt stupid and embarrassed and scared.

“Are you going to have an epidural?” asked the nurse.

Hermione nodded frantically.

“All right then, let’s get your enema in now. Can you stand up?” Hermione had to have Ron swing her trembling legs over the bed, and both Yvonne and Ron gripped her hands to the tiny bathroom. 

“Ron,” she gasped.

“Yes?” He was there instantly.

“G-go find Harry,” she said firmly. She didn’t want him hearing _this._

“Are you sure?”

“She’s sure,” said Yvonne.

Ron checked with Hermione once more and then left her with Yvonne over the toilet while the nurse bent down. 

“Any news?” he asked Harry, finding him down the hall near the machines Hermione had told him worked just the same as wizarding ones. That had seemed so unlikely he had exploded one once, just to prove there were wires and things.

“_I meant the way it vends food, not what it’s made of!” _she had cried, quickly repairing it and smiling innocently at the passport control agent. They had not gotten Ron a passport that day, though it had been _much_ easier to get Hermione a magical apparatory travel visa.

“They’ve finally left,” Harry said. “Apparently there was some sort of root canal emergency. Sepsis or something.”

Ron didn’t know what most of those words meant, so he just shrugged. “So they’re in the car?”

“They’re in the car, but they don’t have a phone cable.”

“What phone do they have?”

“None of ours, I warrant,” said Harry, sighing heavily. “Says her phone might go out.”

“_Great_,” said Ron.

“Well it’s only noon,” said Harry bracingly. “We should get some lunch after Ginny gets back.”

“What is taking her?” Ron wondered, as he and Harry walked back to the closed curtain.

“BLOODY HELL,” Ron swore upon entering the room. Hermione was bent over double, gripping both sides of the bed while a needle the length of a newborn was going into her spine.

“Oi! Stop that! You!” Ron tried to charge the nurse, but Harry was holding him back for some reason.

“It’s supposed to do that!” Harry hissed in his ear. “It’s the pain medication!” 

“Bloody hell,” said Ron weakly again, sagging in Harry’s arms. He met Hermione’s eyes, and in the brown depths he saw them blazing; saw her pain; her determination.

“Bloody hell,” she agreed through clenched teeth.

Yvonne only laughed, taped the tube into place, and let Hermione lay gently back again. “You’ll feel a lot less pain in about half an hour.”

“Okay,” winced Hermione, trying to turn on her side.

“Don’t move,” cautioned Yvonne. “Not yet. It’s just slid in there. Let it have its time.” She left the room.

“Does it hurt?” Ron asked, crossing the room.

“OF COURSE IT BLOODY HURTS,” Hermione shouted, and then regained her breath, panting. She was still holding both arms of the bed. “I’m sorry,” she apologized.

“No! Stupid question,” Ron said. 

“A bit,” Harry put in.

“Shut up, Harry,” Ron and Hermione said together.

“Could I get another pillow?” asked Hermione hopefully.

Ron leapt to obey, grabbed three pillows from the couch, and arranged them behind her head and under each arm like a throne.

“Your majesty,” he bowed.

Hermione giggled weakly. “Thanks,” she said. She knew they both knew she was scared, but she didn’t know how to stop being brave to let them help. She opened her mouth to-

There was a loud _crack_ and Mrs. Weasley was there with Ginny with a large steaming picnic basket over one arm. 

“Hermione, love, hello,” she said, swooping on Hermione for a kiss and gently patting her wild hair. She crossed the room to Ron, handing him the basket. “Get this unpacked, dear.”

Ron and Harry went to the little table in the back of the room and began unpacking the steaming food while Mrs. Weasley fussed over Hermione. The first thing she did was magic Hermione’s hair back up into a bun.

“Thanks, Molly,” sighed Hermione in relief.

Ginny only snorted, throwing her head. “Boys.”

“Men,” corrected Mrs. Weasley fondly.

“MUM!” Ron protested, going pink at the ears.

“Hello,” it was Yvonne, looking startled. “When did you get here? And where did you get all this food?”

“I’m-”

“My mum,” said Ron quickly.

“I asked her to be here,” added Hermione.

“Oh, well, that’s alright, if you want her here,” said Yvonne doubtfully. “It’s just a bit crowded.”

“I won’t be staying for the…erm…” Harry fumbled. 

Ginny squeezed Hermione’s hand, eyebrows raised. Hermione shook her head a bit. 

“Neither will I,” said Ginny quickly. Harry looked gratified, and the nurse satisfied.

“That’s not so bad then. That epidural kicking in?”

“A little,” said Hermione weakly, and her toes had gone numb. It was like a chill was creeping up her calves and down her back at the same time, taking its time about meeting in the middle, the place she needed most. Rationally she knew it worked as a blanket, and that only because of the immense pain it was taking longer to dull-

Hermione shivered as a contraction took her, and Ron snatched up a blanket from the couch. “Do you need this?” he asked hopefully.

“Ronald, put that down,” snapped Mrs. Weasley.

“I see we have a veteran,” smiled Yvonne.

“_Seven_ children,” said Mrs. Weasley forcefully. “And a set of…” she faltered. “Twins.”

“My, my, then I’ll leave you to the professional,” winked Yvonne.

Hermione held Mrs. Weasley’s hand. “Thank you for coming,” she said quietly. “I don’t know…I don’t know where my mum is.” She hated that she sounded like a lost little girl, but she felt just as she had when she was six and in the shopping mall when she had turned around and her parents had been gone. 

“She’ll be here,” said Mrs. Weasley firmly. “Harry said she’s on her way now.”

Hermione nodded, eyes bright. “I-” she clawed back what she wanted to howl: _I want my mum._ Instead she said. “I’m happy you came.”

“Of course, love,” said Mrs. Weasley warmly, and for a moment, Hermione felt that she and Mrs. Weasley had never before connected on this level. Had never been so alone together, even with other people in the room. Mrs. Weasley hugged her, and Hermione buried her hot face into her collarbone. She smelled of fresh baked bread and the sunflowers that grew outside the kitchen window.

“Now, Ginny, go eat with your brothers.”

“But Mum!”

“Ginny.”

“Fine.”

“I’m afraid none for you,” said Mrs. Weasley apologetically, but Hermione only smiled weakly.

“Don’t think…that’s the best idea.”

“No, probably not. Now tell me what you’re feeling.”

Hermione relayed everything that seemed important, and then a few more things that hadn’t when Mrs. Weasley prodded. Mrs. Weasley had also brought along some potions - “brewed by the best, don’t you worry” - she assured Hermione with a wink. Hermione didn’t need to ask who brewed them; the vials were all familiar Burrow decorations when not in use. She drank them down one after another, and for the first time in an hour, her back relaxed all the way into the pillows, and the tightness in her shoulders she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding melted away.

“Thank you,” she sighed. 

“You okay?” It was Ron, who had drifted back over. From her half propped position, Hermione could see Ginny and Harry talking together over the cold chicken and hot toast.

“Yeah. Your mum is really magic.”

“So she tells me,” Ron said teasingly, pulling his mother under one arm. He was so tall she only came up to his chest, and she tilted her head against him fondly.

“You’re wearing the sweater I made you,” she said happily.

Ron looked down in surprise and guilt, but he nodded. “Of course Mum. Our little girl, she’s got to get the proper start, hasn’t she?”

Molly burst into tears and hugged her youngest son around the middle. “I’m so glad you’ve said that because - “ and wiping her eyes she went to a bag, where she drew out a newly knit baby blanket in a dusky pink.

“What a lovely rose,” said Hermione, reaching for it. She and Ron heard it at the same time. Their eyes met over the blanket, and they knew their little girl’s name.

“Rose,” agreed Ron taking the blanket, but looking at Hermione. He kissed his mother’s temple. “It’s beautiful.”

When they had finished their lunch, and Mrs. Weasley had packed it away, and each of them had read the new issue of _The Quibbler_ cover to cover, Hermione couldn’t stand it.

“Where are my parents?” she demanded of Harry. 

Harry looked scared. “Hermione. I told you. Your mum said her phone battery might have died and-”

“Their office is only half an hour drive from here!”

“They left late and-”

“They could be in an accident!”

“I know but-”

Hermione finally let lose the wail that had been building up since eight in the morning. “I want my mum!”

There was a commotion in the hall, and two people rushed in. “I’m here, sweetheart,” said Mrs. Granger, running to her bed. “I’m sorry. We went to the wrong hospital.”

“And there was traffic,” added Mr. Granger.

“And there was traffic,” agreed Mrs. Granger. “But mostly we got a late start because your father couldn’t finish-”

“It was-”

“Alright!” said Hermione loudly, gripping her mother’s hand very hard as another half-numbed contraction rippled down her body. “I’m just…I’m just glad you’re here.”

“Hello Molly,” said Mr. Granger belatedly. He shook Ron’s hand too, knew Harry by name from years on the train platform, but forgot Ginny. 

“I’m sorry,” said Mr. Granger, sounding embarrassed. “There are just so _many_ of you.”

Harry and Hermione burst out laughing while Mrs. Weasley, Ron, and Ginny looked mildly affronted. 

“There really are,” said Harry grinning. “And about to be more.”

Hermione smiled too as her mum scooted closer to her on a chair Mrs. Weasley had unobtrusively conjured and fetched from “just behind the bathroom door.” Then began the waiting game. By four, Hermione was six centimeters, and Fleur had popped in with her three children. Victoire was nine, and very interested in what all the muggle machinery was for. Dominique was seven, and very interested in her own moving dolls she had brought along, which made Yvonne laugh half-hysterically when she swore she saw them move, and Dominique only regarded her blankly, refusing to speak any English when questioned. Louis was only four, and he only wanted to be picked up by Oncle Harry and played with by Tante Ginny. 

At six, Mr. Weasley came by from work, bringing the whole host of male counterparts. Bill went home with the children after kissing Hermione good luck, slapping Ron ruefully on the back, and winking cheekily at a flustered Yvonne who was trying to both figure out where all the people were coming from, and how to get them to go back from wherever they were popping in. George performed new tricks from the shop for her, pausing kindly every contraction so she could see the whole thing. He even offered her a daydream draft for an hour or so, which Hermione vehemently refused. She didn’t want to miss a second of this, even if most of it was waiting around.

Percy brought her the evening paper, looking embarrassed and anxious, though when Hermione asked him about his girlfriend Audrey, he went faintly pink, and took off his horn rimmed glasses in just the way Arthur did when he was flustered to talk about their most recent date.

“Charlie will be by after she’s born,” Mr. Weasley assured Hermione, who didn’t understand at first why Charlie - the most unfamiliar of all the brothers - would bother about her until she remembered she was married to _Ron_ and that their child would be his niece. 

“That’s nice,” she had said faintly. “Won’t it be the middle of the night in Romania?”

“Who cares?” Ron said annoyed. “How often are babies born?”

“In this family?” snorted Harry.

He got quite a lot of slaps around his untidy black hair for that one. 

Dr. Hanks finally appeared at a quarter past seven, when Hermione began to push in earnest. The men disappeared, except Ron, of course. Mrs. Weasley and her mum stayed too. Mum grabbed her left hand, Ron her right, and the doctor her knees up in the stirrups. Mrs. Weasley stood well behind Yvonne and Dr. Hanks and then made gestures at Ron who didn’t understand a whit what she was going on about as she coached Hermione herself in addition to all the other support she was getting. In one of her fluttering hands Mrs. Weasley clutched the new pink baby blanket, and Hermione thought of it as a flag welcoming her daughter into the world, and predictably, into the family.

Hermione knew everyone else hadn’t gone far. She could hear Fleur and Ginny just outside the door, probably peeking in after disillusioning each other to avoid notice from the nurses. She was also sure all of the men who had come by were in the waiting room, ready to meet her daughter. 

Hermione looked up at her mother when she felt the baby begin to crown. “I’m scared,” she told her honestly. Her mother was crying, and as her tears dropped onto her daughters face, they mingled with Hermione’s own. Hermione reflected in an instant that in moments all three of them would be crying. That Hermione was not only becoming a mum, but her mum was becoming a gran. 

“Don’t be,” her mother whispered. 

“What if I’m bad at it?” Hermione asked nervously. She had never been bad at anything before in her life, but this seemed like a major thing you didn’t want to be bad at.

“We’re all bad,” laughed her mum. “I know I was.”

“No!” Hermione grunted, holding off while the doctor screamed at her to push, relishing these last few seconds with her mother, with the relationship they would have in the great Before. The chapter’s end. “You were great.”

“No,” said her mother gently. “_You _were great. And she will be too.”

Hermione screamed more with fear and with tears and with joy than with effort, and there was a tiny, suckled, angry wail answering back as her daughter was born.

“She’s beautiful,” Ron said instantly, blubbering more than either of them. “God, she’s so beautiful. She looks just like you.”

Hermione only laughed, sniffling up tears. “I can’t see her. Hold her up!”

Mrs. Weasley was rushing forward, offering her blanket as the first wrap the baby would ever have. She was bawling too, and the door burst open with Ginny and Fleur already racing each other to see her as the beautiful girl was nestled into Hermione’s arms, a discreet spell from Mrs. Weasley making Dr. Hanks and Yvonne forget to weigh and measure her until after the afterbirth was delivered, which wasn’t the usual order.

Hermione Granger looked down at the tiny, perfect, blended face of her daughter. She had Ron’s freckles, and reddish brown curls in a small fuzz over her head. Her eyes were only half open, but they were dark, like the spaces between the stars. 

“She’s so beautiful,” said Fleur reverently, and Hermione cried even harder because she knew Fleur would never say it if it weren’t true. Hermione had never been _beautiful_, not like _she_ would be.

“Well done, petal,” said Mrs. Weasley, also still crying, kissing Ron’s cheek, and then kissing Hermione’s, and then kissing her pinky to touch to the baby’s face. “Well done.”

“You’re doing great,” said Mrs. Granger to Hermione. “It’s been 20 seconds and look at you. Mum of the year!”

Hermione laughed weakly, exchanging kisses with her Mum.

“What’s her name?” asked Ginny, obviously asking what was on everyone’s mind.

Hermione looked over her shoulder at Ron, who nodded. He got to be the one to introduce her.

“Her name is Rose,” he said quietly. “And she’s just begun to bloom.”


End file.
